Sunday morning in Paris

Excerpt from Chapter 3: Sunday morning in Paris

I run about a mile on an empty highway. There are a few bikers and a few other runners out. Since one would assume that half of the people are moving my direction, I really don’t pass by many people. However I pass enough that I begin to consider what the proper etiquette is. It is easy enough to get by on a crowded city sidewalk with limited French. Most people don’t acknowledge you. They go to lengths to not interact and to be polite in that strange metropolitan way with only the occasional pardon heard. What do runners do or say? In Central Park, you can consider yourself acknowledged if no one runs into you. On the bike trails of Santa Monica, it is okay to admire hard bodies, but there are too many people to say hello to everyone. On the bike trail on Lakeshore in Chicago, quite a few midwesterners exchange greetings. In your own neighborhood, you say hello and wave a lot because you never know who knows whom. In general, I give a lot of quick nods, peace signs (yes that is my standard and automatic wave and predates any recent political association), and “mornings”, “hey, what’s up?”, etc. 


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